Archive of Our Own

Kaminari has learned a few things from the short time he has lived in the dorms. From Todorokis' odd obsession with cold soba, to the fact that Bakugous’ strive to prove he's the best at everything doesn't extend to games---Kaminari has learned a lot about his peers.

But, there is one thing he has learned from his time in the dorms, something that has saved him from singed hair and burnt skin, and it's this: Bakugou Katsuki is surprisingly calm after a workout. Calm enough, that, if you were part of the (self-proclaimed) Bakusquad, he would do you a small favor with minimal grumbling.

It's actually one of those days—as Kaminari wakes up from his nap on the common room couch, recharged and ready to play video games, does Bakugou enter Heights Alliance from his afternoon jog—does Kaminari ask for a favor.

“Hey, Blasty!” Kaminari calls from his spot on the couch, lazily getting into a seated position, his hair mused, sticking up in all directions, as if he were electrocuted in his sleep. Maybe he was? He's done it before. “Can you do me a solid, All Mighty One?”

Kaminari guess was correct, that Bakugou was still on his high after running, because he offhandedly agreed to the solid without comprehending, already walking towards Kaminari as he fiddled with his phone for a second longer and tucked it in his pocket.

“What do you want, Sparkplug, I'm busy.” He scowled, but Kaminari saw it for what it was, an empty annoyance. A show.

A playful grin erupted on his face, not one unlike a kids smile after their mom agreed to buying them ice-cream, and he asked, full of dramatics, flopping onto the couch, the back of his hand over his head like a poor maiden, “Would you be a dear, and hand me the red controller? It's with the other controllers by the console.”

Bakugou froze for a moment, then turned and proceeded to head towards the TV where the console rested beside. He stood there for a moment, then another, and soon Kaminari was getting genuinely concerned at how long his friend was staring at the controllers. Did he hit his head when he was running? Does his bro have a concussion? What if he was dying at that moment, and the last thing he would remember was Kaminari being lazy?!

Just as the electric user's thoughts started to take a dark turn, Bakugou appeared before him, hand holding out a controller.

“. . .Thanks, buddy,” Kaminari started, “but that's Midoriya's green controller, it's got a sticky key from when he used his quirk on accident. I wanted the red one.” He points out. Maybe Bakugou really did have a concussion? It was unlike him to make such a simple mistake.

Bakugou’s eyes widened, then an angry scowl formed on his face, dark and deep. “Be thankful you even got a controller, Dunceface.” He snarled, “If you don't want it, you can get off your lazy ass and get it yourself.” He dropped the controller in Kaminaris lap, the controller being cushioned by Kaminaris thighs, and stomped up the stairs, uncaring of Sero walking down and shoulder checking him on his way up.

Sero turns his head towards Bakugou's direction, then focuses back on Kaminari. “What's up with Grumpy?” Sero asks, a loose paper in his hand. It was probably his rough draft for his English essay Mic assigned. “I thought he just came back from his run? I was gonna ask him to read over this,” he said, waving his homework in the air.

Kaminari shook his head, crossing his arms as he shrugged. “I don't know, man.” he says, scratching his scalp. “I think he might've hit his head or something, he was acting pretty weird.”

Sero turned back once again, looking at the stairs as if he could still see Bakugou from four floors down. “Should we go check on him?”

“Nah,” Kaminari disagreed, getting up and getting his red controller, replacing it with the broken green one. “We'll send Kirishima to check on him when he comes back from his Mom's place. He'll have better luck at actually being allowed to him.”

“Alright.” Sero contended, advancing towards the couch and setting his essay on the coffee table, taking Kaminaris spot in the process. “Probably the right call. He’ll have lost some steam by then.”

Kaminari shuffles around the TV for a few seconds more, then turns, facing Sero, holding two brightly colored controllers in his hands. “Wanna play?”

A smile makes its way onto his best friend's face, all straight, perfect teeth on display. “Hell yeah, man!” Sero challenged, “I need a rematch from Mario Kart last night.”

“Bet.” Kaminari grins, bouncing towards the couch, half-way sitting on top of Sero. “Prepare to eat my dust.”

“Bro, can you check this?” Kirishima asked, handing Bakugou his math homework. God, he hated graphs. When was he ever going to use algebra when fighting villains? If he ever needed to, he would take the loss and pray that his best bro was close by. At least then he would stand a chance at winning.

It was just Bakugou and Kirishima studying together tonight, holed away in Bakubros' room, isolated from the rest of the class. The homework wasn't due until Monday, and he knew the rest of the squad would be panicking come Sunday night, but Kirishima didn't want his bro to pop a blood vessel tonight dealing with the rest of the squad, so it was just him and his bro. And, secretly, Kirishima liked the proud look in Bakugou’s eyes when he finished his work early.

Bakubro didn't say anything, just simply grabbed his paper, and started checking his work. Kirishima absolutely cherished these moments. The way Bakugou was less tense, his brow unfurled, and his scowl gone, replaced with a concentrated look on his face. A scene only few were privy to, and Kirishima was overjoyed that he was one of them.

“Fuck.” Bakugou muttered under his breath, eyes boring a hole in Kirishima's homework. It wasn't a glare Kirishima saw often, especially pointed at him, but he could read it all the same. Bakugou was frustrated.

Kirishima slumped, falling backward, laying on the ground in defeat. “That bad?” He whined. He thought he was doing pretty good recently, even with his burning hate for anything math related.

“No,” Bakugou said, sliding Kirishima's paper back towards his side of the table. “You actually got everything right. Good job.”

Kirishima brightened at his friend's rare compliment, a smile blooming on his face. Maybe math wasn't so bad after all, if it gave him moments like these?

He got up from his place on the floor, sitting up, still vibrating from Bakubros' compliment. “Then what's up?”

Bakugou was silent for a moment, then ground out, “I used the wrong graph.”

“Really?!” Kirishima exclaimed in shock, then felt bad that he made such a big exclamation, and dialed it back. Even his bro can make mistakes, it's nothing to cry home about. “Maybe we should take a break then? We've basically finished, and it's about time for dinner anyways, wanna go grab a bite and join the rest downstairs?”

Even with the scowl still on his face, Bakugou slowly relaxed at the offer, gathering both of their stuff and piling it neatly on the table to put away later. His bro was so organized and tidy, the opposite of his quirk, it made him chuckle.

A soft smile makes its way onto Kirishima's face, the guilt steadily oozing out of his body. He felt bad that he made such a big deal out of a homework question, but it was unusual for his bro to miss a detail like what color graph he should be using.

Kirishima noticed the weight on his bro’s mind, the frustration he was feeling, though Kirishima wasn't entirely sure where it was aimed at anymore. It seemed more serious than using the blue graph instead of the pink one, but he couldn't come up with any other reason.

Everyone has their bad days, Kirishima notes, now he just hopes that his bro can de-stress over the rest of the weekend. Maybe he should schedule some quirk training with his bro tomorrow?

“With those extras?” Bakugou comments, dragging the redhead out of his mind and back into reality, to the here and now. “They're probably watching a shitty rom-com.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything after that, just gets up, Kirishima following suit, and walks out the door, Kirishima with his homework folded in his pocket. Bakugou made a face when he did it, but Kirishima had just smiled at him and told him it was easier this way.

Bakugou didn't deny joining them though, Kirishima thought, smiling to himself, putting his arm around his bestest bro. Maybe he could convince him to join after all?

It was only later, when Kirishima was getting ready for bed after finishing the rom-com with the entirety of Class 1-A—Bakugou even staying for the first movie—that Kirishima took out his homework from his pocket and unfolded it to put in his folder did he realize that Bakugou used a light-blue pen for marking instead of the usual bubblegum pink one Kirishima gave him for grading.

Huh, he acknowledged, weird.

How did he end up here? Sero thinks dully, standing alone in the dorm's kitchen, an apple rolling next to him.

His day started off like any normal, average day in Heights Alliance did. He woke up at nine o'clock, then ate breakfast, played on his phone till the clock struck ten-thirty, where he would then get a burst of energy and proceed to finish some homework—just his standard weekend.

It was on one such weekend, where Sero was on one of his daily snack runs, as it was the afternoon and he needed some brain fuel to help him finish the rest of his homework, that his day took a turn for the worse.

He had just managed to complete the reading for Cementoss-sensei's class, and it took a lot out of him. Sero just wasn't vibing with the book they were analyzing, it was too complicated and monotonous for him, but Kaminari seemed to like it, if his a content smile and bright eyes were of any indication, even if he had to define a few words during it, so Sero was just happy it wasn't a complete waste of time.

But back to the point, it all started when he made his trek down to the kitchen to acquire some nutrients after his tribulations. The journey was unadventurous, and the lack of any screaming had given him a false sense of security. The sun was bright, a golden glow painting streaks on the wooden floor, the air crisp, a fresh breeze from the open windows. Sero had let down his guard. A risky thing in a house filled with pubescent teenagers with destructive power in the palms of their hands.

The common room was alive with a soft chatter. Todoroki sat at the armchair in the corner of the room, spotting Sero immediately and raised his bowl of soba in greeting at Seros nod. Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida were near him, eating snacks of their own, pencils and paper scattered around the table. A pleased feeling washed over him, congratulating himself on actually doing his homework on time.

With a satisfied expression on his face, Sero continued on his path to the kitchen, where he saw Bakugou, lifting fruit to the light, as if he were a detective looking for clues. The scene was so vivid in his mind, of Bakugou in a detective's outfit, sporting a brown coat and fedora, that he let out an amused chuckle at the image.

“Whacha doing, Mr. Holmes?” Sero grins, big like Cheshire's cat, head tilted back, pleased. “Looking for some clues to who did it?”

Bakugou turns back and gives Sero an evil glare, the kitchen light creating a gleam in his red eyes. “Real funny, shit head,” he retorted sarcastically, “real funny.” He sets the apple down on the countertop, neglected, finished looking for clues, or whatever else the other was doing, and turns his attention at Sero. “How about I kill you,” Bakugou suggested, “and someone else can try to find clues to where your dead body is instead?”

“Maybe,” he drags out, “another time,” Sero promises. He walks around the tempered blond, giving the other a playfully—obnoxiously—wide berth on his way to the cabinet by the sink “But I'd rather not die on an empty stomach. Please blame my hunger, Mr. Killer-san.”

As Sero reaches for some rice crackers and choco pie, Bakugou slams the once forgotten apple beside him, startling Sero and making him reel back in his soul. A confused look makes home on his face, and Bakugou rolls his eyes as if Sero was supposed to know what he was asking, and says, “What type of apple is this?”

Sero hears crickets chirping in the distance, the peaceful breeze from before brushing his ankles. “What?” He inquiries dumbly. “Did—did you want the actual name? Because I’m no expert, man, I just call it a red apple. . .” he trails off, inching backwards, his lower back hitting the side of the countertop.

Bakugou growls, his features growing deeper, his brows furrowed. He grumbles something under his breath, what it is, Sero wasn't sure. It sounded like “how”, but he really has no clue.

“So—,” Sero drawls. And if Sero knew how to pick his battles, he never would've asked, and on such a nice day as this, but he doesn't, and continues, ignorant of the oncoming future that lies ahead. “---why did you ask me that?”

And in true Bakugou fashion, he explodes, sparks dancing across his palms. He grabs Sero by the collar, face inches apart, and snarls, “Mock me again, I fucking dare you.” Sero remains quiet in shock, and Bakugou pushes him, letting go of his hold on his collar and turning his back on him, steam coming out of his ears as he stomps away.

Anger sets in the pit that is Sero’s stomach at the uncalled for anger from his friend. He has the right to feel that way, to be annoyed and hurt at the vitriol in Bakugou's words. Sero knows he did nothing wrong, he knows he didn't, but the bigger emotion, the one that keeps him standing dumbfounded, is confusion.

Why did Bakugou get so irritated? And why does he think that Sero was mocking him, and for what!? Questions race in Seros mind, zipping through his brain faster than he can comprehend, but the slamming of the common room door puts that to a halt, his mind soon filled with an erratic buzz.

Noise erupts, previous conversations forgotten to instead discuss the commotion. Sero needs to go out there, to prevent any crazy accusations, of any strange rumors, but his feet remain glued to the floor.

He sighs, and only then does he realize he was holding in his breath, that his own shoulders were tense and raised high. Move, he thinks, but is unable to follow the easy command.

“I'm sure nothing really happened.”Seros' ears catch a voice saying.

It's Kirishima.

He can finally relax. Can bask in his newfound freedom, and bless his savior, Kirishima, for showing up at the right timing. Sero knows Kirishima can handle it, can put a stop to anything that could happen, that he could smooth things out between him and Bakugou.

Sero knows Bakugou has been different recently, more tense, more quick to lash out—that he has something on his mind—but if Bakugou doesn't say something soon, Sero's gonna have to call a Bakusquad intervention.

Distantly, Sero can hear Kirishima still speaking— “---but, even if something did, it's probably a misunderstanding. I'm gonna go now, sorry for all the noise!”---but he pays it no mind.

His rice cakes and choco pie remain crushed and forgotten in his hold, his fists wrapped tightly around them. “Ugh,” guess he isn't getting any more homework done.

The golden sun's rays had disappeared. All that was left was an apathetic feeling.

Jirou didn't mind going grocery shopping, after all, she had plans to go out anyways, as she needed to pick up a new guitar-pick after Kaminari had lost all of hers when he decided he was gonna pull a prank and hide them. Unfortunately for her, and which didn't come as a surprise to anyone, Kaminari forgot where he hid them, and now all fifty picks were lost.

She has no doubt they were either in his room or in a hole outside, but that was neither here nor there. Now, she has a crisp twenty dollar bill from the airheads pocket and a baby picture of him dressed as a princess to use as black-mail.

So, no, Jirou had no problem taking Yaomomos spot for shopping, but she couldn't say the same for Bakugou, especially because she would have to stop by a whole different store and he would have to accompany her.

She thought Bakugou and her were close, after all, they hung in similar circles, and she was a branch member of the Bakusquad, so he had to tolerate her at least a little. Yet, he looked just as annoyed, if not more so today, than usual. She just hoped it was because the weather was gloomy and not her presence.

“I have to stop by another store, after this,” Jirou mentions, twirling her ear jack with her pointer finger.

They were in the grocery store now, full of colorful foods and blinding white lights, of bright banners and a ringing jingle. Bakugou was taking the lead, as he normally did, picking up fruit and items and inspecting them. He was surprisingly careful and picky when it came to selecting food, something Sero said he noticed and she thought she might as well confirm.

It was odd, all these little quirks of his, something that was just a tad bit out-of-character for him. But who was she to judge? Everyone has their own special traits, little things they do that others don't. Jirou always jingles her keys to a specific tune and hums a soft melody.

“Fuck'n course you do.” Bakugou grumbled, checking the contents of the cart and stomping towards the self-checkout, never looking back, not even waiting to see if she was following—a straight path forward.

That was just the kind of person he was though, goal-oriented, on a warpath of his own creation to achieve whatever he set his mind to. But, she knew he would never leave anyone behind. She learned that first hand during the Class 1-A and Class 1-B mock fights.

“What,” he comments further, “you couldn't get permission from Aizawa to leave, so you decide to do it when we’re supposed to be restocking instead?”

“Think whatever you want,” Jirou smirks, walking ahead of Bakugou, then spins on her heels and faces him. “Just know that you're coming with me. Anger and all.”

“Damn it, Ears,” Bakugou curses, a scowl on his face as he glowers at her. “You should've said something before we got everything.”

He pushes the cart to an open check-out, pushing past her, and she quickly moves out of the way as he trudges past. He starts scanning the items angrily, then, in juxtaposition, like the walking contradiction he is, methodically places them in the reusable bags he brought from UA. Jirou doesn't even remember him bringing those, but she's not complaining. Convenient, and easier to carry.

“If you start complaining about how heavy the bags are and how your arms hurt, then cry me a fucking river, because that's all your fault.”

He says that, but he holds a significant amount more items in his bag than her as they pack up and start to leave. A smile creeps onto her face, but she's quick to erase it, replacing it with a playful grin, and starts leading the way out the store, much to Bakugou's annoyance.

“Come on, slow-poke,” Jirou teases, “I thought you were supposed to be faster than this, being number one and all?”

Behind her, Bakugou makes an angry, disgruntled noise, his boots loud as he stomps ahead of her, creating his own path.

The two make their way out the store and onto the streets, headed to one of her favorite music stores near the school. The city was bustling, people in clusters at every turn. She's gotten her fair share of dirty looks for accidentally bumping into people, but, thankfully for her, nothing ever escalated from there.

The crowd slows down as they make their approach to the crosswalk, the light shining a dim red. They are in the more dingy part of the city, where the HAWK beacons' red and green animation have lost their symbols and instead glow in a pixelated blob.

Jirou slows her gait, coming to a stop at the edge of the cracked sidewalk, grass peeking out through the fissures. Maybe he doesn't notice the light, or maybe he doesn't care due to the lack of moving cars (which is unlike him, she knows, he's a nerd playing a delinquent, not a delinquent playing nerd), but Bakugou carries on ahead, and takes a step into the road.

In an instant, though Jirou isn't sure why she acted so quickly, it's not like he was in any immediate danger, she grabbed the back of his black T-shirt and tried to tug him back. Jirou can now confirm that Bakugou has eyes on the back of his head, because his arm reaches behind like a viper and holds her wrist in a vice grip.

Sometimes, Jirou forgets that Bakugou is infamous for being scary, that he is scary.

His whole face darkened as he turned his head towards her, eyes searching for the culprit that would dare try and touch him. His red eyes had never been colored blood-red in her direction. They were burning from the embers of Hell, and Jirou was lucky they had yet to set ablaze.

Never has he glowered at anyone in class like that. Never has he treated her like a stranger. Jirou knows, without a doubt, that he was going to be a hero, but seeing this side of him, even if it was only for a split second until he realized it was her, did she understand why others feared him.

So yeah, she forgets that he is the top student, that he is a person who holds anger closest, and everyone else at an arm's length. Who intimidates and frightens even the most hardened foes and fights with a battled smirk and an unwavering confidence that he will win.

The silence rings, and while Jirou knows she can't read Bakugou as well as Kirishima, she can tell that he feels bad that he mistook her for a stranger, for someone that was out to get him.

She wants to play it off. Pretend she didn't break out in a cold sweat. Joke and play off whatever had happened. Instead, all that comes out is: “The light was red.”

He drops her wrist, as if he had been burned, and steps back onto the sidewalk. Jirou doesn't know what to say, she's never been good at consoling people, especially prideful people like Bakugou---she's always left that to Kirishima.

She gives him a light punch to the shoulder, locks their eyes and tries her best to give him a reassuring smile.

The light turns green, then, and she starts walking towards the music shop, her back facing Bakugou, she tosses out a sly, “Also,” she calls, “you’re paying for my guitar picks.”

“Whatever, Ears,” he responds, marching until he's beside her. And while his shoulders are still raised, he seems calmer.

The bag she carries seems even lighter than before.

Mina loves art history, and she loves art class even more. Not only does she get to know all the hot gossip and juicy stories about love-obsessed artists, she gets to express her own crazy imagination with paint and the beauty of colors. She is a rainbow all on her own, after all! A vibrant bundle of pink with yellow accents.

Throughout elementary and middle school, she had been in every artsy club and class that she could get into. Drawing one and two, Painters of a Brighter Society, and Kindergarteners out to Paint—she has been in her fair share of creative painting classes. So, suffice to say, she is in love with the brilliant range of colors and all you can do with it, which is why she is even more thrilled that Midnight is allowing the class to paint portraits of each other for their latest Art History assignment. And the greatest thing to come about this? She got paired with Bakugou—her Blasty!

Mina has been scoping out the class and their artistic abilities, and she has come to the conclusion that her, Bakugou, Tokoyami, and Deku are all the best painterly artists. From her own vivid and whimsical worlds built up with paint, Tokoyami’s specialty of emo-dramatic realism with ink, Dekus hero fanatics of all kinds of medium, and Bakugou's own intense spin on hyperrealism with pencil, they have the class beat. Which makes her all the more excited to get her portrait painted by Blasty.

Don't get her wrong, she loves everyone else's work. They all try really hard! But it's different getting a drawing from someone who knows what they are doing than from someone who doesn't. It's a bond shared by artists—if you were an artist, you would know that feeling well, Mina is sure.

“Blasty!” Mina exclaims, bouncing up to Bakugou with paint brushes in hand, a wide smile on her face. She has somehow already gotten acrylic on her face and the class has yet to even start. “We got paired, finally!” She squeals, practically vibrating in anticipation. “I already claimed the seats in the back, so let's goooo!”

The classroom has been set up differently. All the desks paired in groups of two, sectioned off into islands in their own little world. Mina decided to pick the desks in the back corner by the window to paint. One reason was for Bakugou, so that he could be away from the rest of the class and make him more relaxed. But the main reason? It had the best lighting. From the soft shadow of the corner, to the golden luminescence of the sun—it was perfect.

Her canvas was already at her seat, as she came to class early to claim her perfect spot before the rest of her class. Midnight-sensei had secretly told her the lesson plan and her partner in advance, because Mina mentioned that she loved the drawing assignment they did previously, and how she was sad that UA didn't offer any art classes or have any clubs.

“Are you ready to get the most awesome-est portrait ever?!” Mina questions enthusiastically, the excitement pouring out of her very being.

She sits down in a hurry, eagerly picking up her brush to start sketching and creating her very own masterpiece. Bakugou has a perfect facial structure, and with his expressive face, Mina is sure this painting is one for the history books.

“That's not a word.” Bakugou comments, looking every bit apathetic and annoyed at this assignment. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor, but he, too, picks up his pencil and starts sketching.

Mina was the one to get the paint for her and Blasty—all set up on two cute little palettes—before he could say anything. She was just too excited to paint and wanted to get a head start.

The paint wasn't placed in any specific order, just a hodgepodge of colors scattered about. Of course, she had her primary colors, but she wasn't that much of an expert to just use those—she normally just did what felt right. A woman's intuition is the best, after all! Of course, though, she tried to guesstimate what colors Blasty would need and use the most off, but there was no thought process outside of it, and she wanted it to all be his own!

They spent the first half of class sketching a base, but it wasn't long before the true magic was to happen.

It was during that transition from sketch to rendering, however, that Mina noticed a lull in Blasty's creative process. He pushed his palette closer to the window, his eyebrows scrunched together as he peered at all the pigments, his brush hovering over a myriad of colors. She only became aware of this since she was observing him for her own painting, and a smile stretched from ear to ear, her eyes crescent moon's as she realized just how seriously he was taking this project.

Seriously, could she get a better friend?

Days passed, full of delirium for her favorite class and paint fumes, and soon the due date arrived, marking the end of their assignment. Now, all that was left was to exchange their portraits to each other and submit a picture of the paintings to their student portal with a little artist statement.

“Blasty, it's over!” Mina shouted, paint covering her till the very end. She had just submitted the finalized version of the assignment and she was stoked to see her portrait by Blasty.

Bakugou examined his painting for a moment longer, an indecipherable expression on his face as his eyes gazed upon it.

“Whatever, racoon eyes, now I don't have to look at your ugly mug for a whole class period anymore.”

Mina stuck out her tongue, but continued, chipper as ever, “I'm gonna get the rest of the squad, so we can all show'em off at the same time!” And then she was off, herding the rest of the Bakusquad to their spot in the corner of the classroom.

They were all gathered in a circle, huddled in the back of the classroom. Some of the students, like Sato, Kouda, Ojirou, Hagakure, and Yaomomo had left, all lugging their portraits along, a happy smile on their faces. Even Tooru was happy with her portrait, and she was invisible! Mina had to see hers later, as the invisible girl got her portrait done by Tokoyami and Mina was sure his painting was eccentric and brilliant. Honestly, out of everyone to get Hagakure, Tokoyami was the best possible option, if not her. Both their styles were perfect for the fantastical girl.

Deku and his friends were congregated by the door closest to the teachers podium, chatting amongst themselves as they waited for Uraraka to gather her stuff and join them. They, too, seemed happy with their portraits, and Mina was so elated they got to do this assignment. If not for the fun of painting, than for the smiles that graced everyone's face when they got their portraits back.

Luckily for her own squad, they all got paired with each other: Kaminari and Sero, Kirishima and Jirou, and herself and Bakugou! And, if she had a part to play with that, it was no one else's business besides Midnight, her, and her depleted tea stash.

“Alright, gang,” Mina starts, “on the count of three,” Mina says, holding her painting close, ready to flip her painting at a moment's notice. “One—”

“I'm not doing this,” Bakugou interrupts, dropping his painting on the table, and standing up. It clatters loudly on the desk, Iida turning his attention towards them, ready to either scold them on the noise or ask if they are okay, but Mina waves him off before anything can escalate further and ruin Blasty's mood. Mina hopes nothing got scratched or smeared during the collision, her poor, undoubtedly gorgeous, face didn't deserve that. “You lot can do this without me, for all I care” he says, grabbing his bag and preparing to leave the group. “I have better things to do than play show and tell with you all.”

He turns, and attempts to make his exit, but Kirishima latches onto his arm, giving Bakugou the world's most adorable puppy-dog eyes, and says, almost pleadingly, “Come on, Bakubro, please? There's no harm in staying, it's all just some fun between friends. We're excited to show each other what we created.”

“Yeah!” Kaminari chimes in. “Besides, this is the last class of the day, you have nowhere else to be! Do this for the squad, man!”

“And,” Sero adds, “It's not like you'll have the worst painting. I got a glimpse of what Kaminari drew for me, and I got to say, I'm hoping I look better in real life.”

“What he said!” Kaminari agrees, nodding his head, a thoughtful look on his face, until his brain processes what Sero said. Jirou chuckles at Kaminari as he exclaims, voice full of false hurt, “Dude, did you just dis me?! Not cool man! Not cool.”

“Come on, Blasty, please?” Mina begs, joining Kirishima with her own set of guilt-tripping eyes. Though, Mina bets her whole life that Kirishima doesn't even realize the face he's making. He's just that much of a big-hearted fool. “If you're not going to show it, I'll show it myself!” She declares, voice full of conviction, standing proudly, her canvas still in her hands. “It's my painting anyways, so we'll see it no matter what you do!”

It doesn't take much more than that. One more glance at Kirishima's doe-eyes and Bakugou was a goner, his stone cold heart melting from the warmth of Kirishima's innocent love. It was weird, almost, the way Mina could see Bakugou's walls coming down for Kirishima, his impenetrable fortress opening its gates, but Mina understood, Kirishima just had that charm about him, one that made you want to be your best self, to not be someone to be disappointed in. To be someone Kirishima wouldn’t be disappointed in, to be sad for.

He sits back down on his seat, scowl planted firmly on his face, but willing to participate either way as he picks his own canvas back up.

“Alright!” Mina starts up again, her enthusiasm back and ready to spill over. “Now, let's take this back to the top.” She gives her friends a look, one that screams ‘no-more-interruptions’ and begins her countdown, voice high and loud. “One, two—”

“THREE!” They all scream together, even Jirou and Bakugou participating, a whispered “three” under their breaths.

In unison, they all showcased their portraits. Mina’s eyes bounce from picture to picture. From Seros rendition of Kaminari in a Pikachu onesie, to Kirishima's kindergarten level drawing of Jirou, decorated with music notes and waves. “Manly waves,” he would defend, “with manly notes”. She soaked up every last ounce of creativity and friendship that was displayed through the paintings. Then, it was as if their eyes all landed on Bakugou's rendition of her at the same time, their minds coming to a halt, a static in the air.

There, painted with a flurry of flowers interwoven in her hair and horns, was Mina. It looked stunning, Mina would admit, and she would cry later, of how her friend saw her, of how beautifully he captured her, but the same question rang throughout the room, unspoken, but unnecessary.

Mina was blue.

She was blue with only the hintest of pink sprinkled about, as if he only used it because he didn’t have the correct color for highlights.

Kaminari was the one to break the ice first, to say what they were all thinking. “Dude,” he said, “why did you paint Mina blue?”

“Not that it looks bad or anything!” Kirishima defended quickly, watching Bakugou for any kind of reaction.

Mina wishes she paid attention to the emotions in Bakugou's eyes, to the wrinkles in his face, and the way his body was postured, but she didn’t. All she did was keep her eyes on the painting, even as it fell down, even when her face was no longer visible and the door was slammed shut behind her.

Later that night, Mina called the squad, besides Bakugou, into her room. Her painting was hung on the wall by her desk, her fairy lights making it glow.

“I think you all know why you are here,” Mina said, standing at the head of the table, the rest of the squad in front of her, creating a circle. Cookies were set in the middle, but they remained untouched. “Blasty has been acting weird lately. The painting, the food, grocery shopping,” she listed. “Something is up, and either we find out ourselves, or tell Aizawa, because my gut is telling me this is something important.”

The group sits in silence, a hushed hum washing over them. Mina thinks she should’ve played some soft music, to lighten the mood at least, but Kirishima raises his hand, getting the group's attention, and says hesitantly, as if he is unsure of what he is saying, “I think he might be colorblind.”

For some reason, Mina’s shoulders untensed at the suggestion. She didn’t even realize how worried she was. Maybe it was because she was secretly worried Blasty was hit by a quirk? Or that he was dying from an unknown illness? But she relaxes, her muscles loosening.

“I was worried about him, you know?” Kirishima adds, biting on the corners of his lips, his teeth toying with the flesh. “So I looked up what I’ve noticed and the top answer was colorblindness, or, at least, some form of it.”

Kaminari lets out a huge sigh, falling back onto Mina’s black and pink heart carpet. “Thank goodness,” he breathes out. “I asked Hero-it, dude, and I know I shouldn't have, because of the trolls, but I was worried it was this villain, and I didn’t know how to bring it up, and I’m pretty sure he died, like, ages ago, but what if he came back?!”

The seriousness that filled up the room, their worry and fears all melted, and they all started laughing. Maybe they were laughing at Kaminari, maybe they were laughing at themselves and all their own hidden worries, but they laughed and laughed like there was no tomorrow, their eyes overflowing with tears.

“Man,” Sero says, wiping the corners of his eyes. “We are so dumb.”

From her spot at the edge of the table, Jirou pipes up, twirling her ear jacks, “Now what do we do?” She asks.

It looked as if Kirishima had thought of this exact scenario, because he immediately responded, voice back to his chipper tone, “We tell Aizawa, and after, once it’s finally acknowledged and confirmed, maybe we can get Hatsume to get us some contacts or glasses to help correct his vision?”

“Then you know what that means?” Mina questions the group, a giant smirk on her face. They all stare up at her blankly, and Mina shouts, pumping her fists in the air, “We celebrate!”

It took a lot more planning than any of them realized to be able to set everything up—but they were up for the task. Anything for their friend, they promised when they had time to think, but their days got pretty hectic once they initiated the plan.

The easy part was to report to Aizawa-sensei about their findings and to get him to agree to help Bakugou—step one, complete!---but it took a few more minutes (hours) of politely asking (begging) Aizawa to not say that they had any part in this, and to convince him to tell them what type of color deficiency Bakugou was diagnosed with when the time came.

Planning parties was easier said than done, but by pure enthusiasm and an unhealthy amount of mountain dew that made the Bakugou Katsuki, leader of the Bakusquad, concerned about them—they were almost complete.

Sure, they had their fair share of struggles. They debated when would be the best time to celebrate; what color balloons they should pick; what activities they should plan; what people should be invited—if any should be at all? But they overcame all that. And, surprisingly, Hatsume was a greater help than they could've imagined, doing much more than creating the color-correcting contacts and glasses, she helped give options on where their party should be hosted, with a special emphasis that the best setting would be outside during the day.

The hardest thing, however, was keeping it all a secret from Bakugou. They will never underestimate the perceptiveness of their leader, how keen his eyes and sharp his intelligence was, because they only got so far thanks to Present Mic's help, who joined in on the fun because he heard about it from Aizawa and thought it was a good cause. He gave them excuses to leave, to be out-and-about, so that they wouldn't have to lie to Bakugou.

And soon, after much preparation, everything was prepared.

“Come on, Bakubro, it's squad day, you have to join the picnic,” Kirishima whines, eyes big and wide, just like a puppy begging for a treat. The day has finally come, Kirishima thinks, elation filling his heart, shaking his bones, making him all jittery in excitement. He will make sure everything today goes perfectly.

He's got his hand around one of Bakugou wrists, guiding him to their special hangout spot on UA grounds, the blond reluctantly trudging along. “It's gonna be so much fun! So you gotta stay, okay?” He bats his eyes at the other, using his charm to make sure his best bro crush stays. “Please?” Kirishima pleads, “I'm just so happy today, you don't want to ruin that, right?”

A sour look appears on Bakugou's face, then defeat as acceptance takes its place, and that's when Kirishima knows he won. He was just surprised it worked, and a sigh of relief escapes him. Guess Mina was right, all he needed to do was bat his lashes and beg a little, and Bakugou would join. The only thing is, if Mina knew how to get Bakugou to come, why couldn't she do it? Why did he have to be the one to bring Katsuki? He wanted to be one of the ones to pop confetti and surprise his Bro. But as Kirishima catches a glimpse of Bakugou, at his content face and lax demeanor, Kirishima wouldn't trade it for the world.

His hand feels oddly warm, even with the heat of the sun bathing them, and it's then that he realizes he still has his hand around Bakugou's wrist. He flushes, his face coated in a shade of pink, as if he had applied all of Minas blush on his cheeks to ears.

Kirishima unclamps his hand from his bros wrist and scratches his neck. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. He quickly tosses his arm around Bakugou, pointedly looking at anywhere but the others face, and continues on ahead.

Kirishima can spot the hints of color peeking from the brush, and halts. Stopping both him and Bakugou in their tracks.

Bakugou makes a confused grumble, but Kirishima doesn't answer it, and instead removes himself from Bakugou, standing in front of him and blocking his view. “Please don't get mad, alright?” Kirishima requests, a serious and happy look on his face—quite the contradiction.

“Why the fuck would I get mad?” Bakugou responds. Then, his eyes narrow, forming a questing gaze. “Unless you're gonna make me mad, shitty hair, then I suggest you let me go so I can train instead.”

A smile makes its way onto Kirishima's face, and he tilts his head, a happy “Nope!” leaving his lips. He returns to his original position next to Bakugou, not without the other giving him one last look, then resuming their trek.

Kirishima's palms were sweating in nervous excitement, and soon, they were at their little grove. Kirishima ducked under the large branch acting as a door, and Bakugou followed, oblivious, or, as oblivious as they could get him to be without him immediately exploding them.

As soon as Bakugou entered, confetti bursted out, raining down before his eyes, the group screaming “Surprise!” in a merrily cheer.

“What the fuck are you celebrating?”

Mina bounces over towards Bakugou, her confetti cannon falling on the grass, soundless and irrelevant. The sun's rays dance across Mina's skin, showcasing how vibrantly pink she is, and Kirishima knows they picked the right day. “Your introduction to color!”

Bakugou's eyes connect with Kirishimas sharply, suspicion dancing across the red of his irises, a lingering question of How do you know? making itself present. But Kirishima, in all his innocent kindness, just gave him a toothy grin and said, “We found out. Happy rainbow day, man!”

Honestly, Kirishima and the rest of the group were surprised that was all he did. No fuss, no explosion, just a child-like bewilderment. In Kirishima's own mind, he found the expression adorable, and tried to remember every detail, to keep this memory vivid for as long as he can.

“Give him the present, give him the present,” Kaminari repeated, shaking Sero like a vending machine with a bag of chips hanging off the coils. In his hands, Sero holds a small box wrapped in white paper with a prism of polka dots. Their gift of color.

Sero says, “Here man, for you, from us,” and places the gift in Bakugou's surprisingly non-exploding palms, and steps back to give the notorious bomb some space.

Kirishima squeezes Bakugou's shoulder, encouraging him to open the gift, to their attempt at bringing him a joy he has never experienced. “You got this dude!”

“Of course I do, it's fucking paper, not some villian.” He said, picking the tape on the side of the present with his nails. “Which I could beat as well.” He adds on, like anyone thought he wouldn't be able to beat someone and win, like they were focusing on that part anyways.

Even as he says that, though, Bakugou opens the present like he's never gotten one before, hesitantly and carefully, as if he was going to reuse the paper, as if it was something more precious than anything he's ever owned without him even knowing what it is. It makes Kirishima's heart squeeze.

The lack of wrapping paper reveals a chrome box with a smiley face sticker from Hatsume, and from inside the box, Bakugou pulls out a pair of sunglasses and a contact lens container. “What is this?”

Bakugou looks the most vulnerable Kirishima and the group has ever seen him, and they feel so glad that they kept it to a squad-only party. “It's color correcting glasses and lenses from Hatsume and Power Loader-Sensei. It can help you see the world like we do.”

“If this is a joke,” Bakugou starts, shoulders rising, but everyone jumps in, voices raised an octave in defense, denying even the possibility of them doing something so cruel.

Jirou says, when everyone's voice has lowered a reasonable amount, “We wouldn't do that. We just thought it would be nice if you could see the world in color instead of your muddled version of it.”

Bakugou and Jirou stare at each other, neither backing off. Bakugou assessing and dissecting the others' words.

“Ahugh,” Mina whines, “I can't take this!”. She reaches over and plucks the glasses from Bakugou's hands and places them on his face instead. “There,” she shouts, hands on her hips, “now you can see if we were lying or not!”

There was a buzz in the air, and the sun had never felt hotter than it did in those anxious five minutes. Bakugou eyes flitted between them all, lingering on Mina the most, but never made a sound.

“Do they work, Bakubro? Maybe we should wait a bit longer. . .” Kirishima trails off.

Bakugou opens and closes his mouth a few times, then, seemingly making up his mind, he asks, facing Mina, “What color are you?”

“PINK!” Mina hollered, jumping up and down.

“Pink, pink, pink,” The group chants, running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

“That means it's working!” Kirishima cheers, bringing Bakugou into a hug, squeezing him with all his might.

“Alright, Riot, let go.” Bakugou says, his cheeks tinged with a slight pinkish hue.

“Ah, right.” Kirishima coughs, clearing his throat. His face is as red as his hair. His ears burn. Behind him, the group had created a conga line, dancing and singing the color ‘pink’.

“We have activities,” Kirishima comments, completely ready to follow Bakugou. “But, we can do whatever you want.”

Bakugou's eyes follow Mina for a few moments longer, his eyes still wide in shock, but then he nods, and quietly agrees to doing the activities.

“Alright, Squad,” Kirishima calls, “Let's start the party!”

Everyone makes their way to the picnic blanket on the ground, and settles down. The trees surround them, bringing a sense of privacy to this monumental moment.

On the blanket, there's a color wheel, a mirror, crayons, paper, and a basket of food and drinks. Bakugou reaches for the color wheel, almost unconsciously, and stares at it astonished. “This whole time I never realized people could see such clear distinctions.” Bakugou whispers, then looks up from the wheel, eyes gazing in Kirishima's own red irises, “This is what you've seen all this time?” He asks in wonder. “What color am I looking at?”

It only just hit him, as he answers “Red, just like your own”, at how differently Bakugou had viewed the world before. At how they have all taken color for granted, something that saturated the world in beauty.

“Red,” Bakugou repeats in child-like fascination. “Red,” he says again, a soft smile on his face, “My favorite color.”

Bakugou ruffles Kirishima's hair, but he pays it no mind, even as the others around laugh so hard their stomachs hurt at how stupid he looks with his spikes pointing in every which way, he just keeps his eyes focused on Bakugou, at his gentle smile, the crinkles at the corner of his sparkling eyes, and the faintest hint of blush dusting his cheeks—looking the prettiest he ever has.

“Yeah,” Kirishima responds, his heart so full it hurts, “same here.” He pulls Bakugou to his side, gazes up at the sky, the trees, the balloons and streamers, “There is so much color out in the world.” He smiles, shark teeth on display, happy tears stinging his eyes, “I'm glad we get to share it.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou breathed out, a breeze combing through his blond hair. “Thanks, Red.”

And later, if Bakugou continued to call Kirishima “Red”, that same twinkle in his eyes every time their eyes met, that was no one else's business but theirs.

Color really is a gift. In more ways than one.